


2011 fog kills

by MeByAMile



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Game Novelization, Gen, Multi, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeByAMile/pseuds/MeByAMile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small town, a series of mysterious events are about to unfold, leading to a change in direction for many lives, and a stopping point for some. Whatever the outcome, those who are involved will be forever changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. waiting in the blue room

You are someplace . . . smoky, foggy?

You hear the sound of tires and an engine, the crunch of gravel. The front grill of a car and it’s headlights come into view from the gloom.

It slinks towards you, stops, and pops open a backdoor. Then you do something ill advised. You get into the car. (In your defense, it felt like your actions were not quite your own.)

 

The interior of the car is very . . blue. Blue plush velvet seats line the car, and an overhead light washes everything in an almost glowing teal. There’s sake and a drinking glass glinting in the light on a small end table.

Looking up from the glass you notice that there’s someone else in the car, a woman with silver hair like yourself. In fact there’s two someones. An old man who has steepled his fingers under his very long nose sits across from you. (Since when were you sitting?)

It’s as if they appeared from nowhere. Both of their eyes are closed. Then the woman’s eyes suddenly open, but she doesn’t turn towards you and question why you’re here, she continues looking straight ahead hands folded in her lap.

Your attention is drawn to the old man. He’s mostly bald but has white hair in a crown towards the back of his head. He has big pointy ears and thin black eyebrows that get wild and scruffy towards the end. He wears a suit and white silk gloves. 

His eyes open and look directly at you, they look dark, tired and bloodshot. You can see the veins in his eyes, his pupils are tiny dots. “Welcome to the Velvet Room.”

 

“Velvet . . Room?” You repeat under your breath.

“Ah . . It seems we have a guest with an intriguing destiny.” The old man gestures to you than chuckles; Mhm heh hm. “My name is Igor . . I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” Igor has an odd way of speaking, his pitch changing on every word.

“Where are we?” You intended for it to come out as a demand, instead you just sound bewildered.

“This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter . . .” Strangely enough you sort of understand what he means. “It is a room that only those bound by a “contract” may enter . . .” Igor outstretches his hand again, curling his long thin crooked fingers. You don’t recall signing any contracts.

“It may be that such a fate awaits you in the near future.” (What does he mean by that?)

 

“Now then, why don’t you introduce yourself . .?” Igor waits patiently.

“My name is Isamu Minase.” You declare hesitantly.

“Hm . . I see.” Igor gives a small nod. He appraises you with his wide beady eyes. “Now, let’s take a look into your future shall we?”

Igor hovers his palm over the table in front of him. A bright glowing square transudes into existence with a chime. The glowing square turns into a stack of cards. (How did he do that? How is that even possible?)

 

“Do you believe in fortune telling?” (You’ve never put much stock into those things, until now.)

Igor swipes his hand over the table, the cards rearrange themselves, six surrounding one in a circle. “Each reading is done with the same cards, yet the result is always different . . .”

The cards aren’t like any you’ve ever seen. They have a two-faced black and white mask on them. (The faces look like they can see into the future itself.)

He chuckles oddly, like he’s sharing a secret with you. “Life itself follows the same principles, doesn’t it?” He says matter of factly.

 

Igor makes a flipping motion with one hand and one of the cards turns over. On it is an illustration in silhouette of lightning striking a tower splitting it in two. Two people are falling from the tower.

“Hm . . The Tower in the upright position represents the immediate future. It seems a terrible catastrophe is imminent.” Igor informs you the way someone might speak of bad weather.

“The card indicating the future beyond that is . . .” Igor flips over another card without touching it. “The moon in the upright position.”

On the card is waning moon with two dogs howling at it. They’re by a river with a lobster in it. Two identical towers in the distance.

“This card represents, . . . “hesitation” and “mystery”, very interesting indeed.”

“What do they mean, put together?” You ask.

 

“It seems you will encounter a misfortune at your destination, and a _great_ mystery will be imposed upon you.” He pauses for a moment waiting for you to say something. (But you don’t know what to say to that.)

“In the coming days you will enter a contract of some sorts, after which you will return here.” Igor sounds excited now. “The coming year is a turning point in your destiny . . . if the mystery goes unsolved your future may be forever lost.”

“Lost?” (Lost how? In what way?)

“My duty is to provide assistance to our guests. To ensure, That. Does. Not. Happen.” Igor swipes his hand across the table again, the cards dissipate with a whirr.

 

“Ah!” Igor blinks rapidly and looks towards the silver haired woman who has been watching from the corner. “I have neglected to introduce my assistant to you.”

“This is Margaret. She is resident of this place, like myself.” Igor explains looking at his assistant. “My name is Margaret. I am here to accompany you through your journey.” She says curtly, like she had just been waiting for her cue. Igor turns back towards you.

“We shall attend to the details another time. Until then, farewell . . .”

Your vision starts getting darker and more blurred by the second, until you can’t see anything of the car at all. Then you lose consciousness.  

 


	2. invisible ties

You peer out of the train windows and watch as the hills of the countryside roll on by. Living in a big city your whole life you haven’t seen this much green since your last family campout which was quite some time ago.

 

You love trips and outings with your parents, basically any time you get to spend with them. You have many fond childhood memories. Your mother teaching you calligraphy, walks in the local park with them each time they would teach you something new about the world, when your father went full tilt trying to find you a hobby, you could go on for quite awhile.

 

You catch your own reflection in the window and are taken aback by how much older you look. Perhaps it’s the slight scowl, you try for a smile. It looks forced and awkward.

 

Your parents work has been steadily getting busier over the years. They try to make time for you and when they do have time off they make it count. But lately you’ve been seeing less and less of them. Last year they were barely home at all.

Now they’re about to be sent overseas on a year long assignment. At times they could be gone for months, but they’ve never been called away for this long consecutively before.

 

You know you can get by just fine on your own, after all you’ve done it before. But your parents weren’t okay with leaving you without supervision for a whole year. Philippe an old nakama of your parents, who used to babysit you when you were younger, went out of retirement so that’s no longer an option.

With the increasing assignments and the recalling of retired employees you figure Hex is having a rough go of it. There are few things you know about the organization your parents work for.

 

It has a neon pink logo of a grid of hexagons. It has branches in multiple other countries, for example; China, Australia, New Zealand, etc. Hex is officially a private contractor for peacekeeping and community stability efforts.

You’re not exactly sure what that  _ could _ potentially mean, but you think you have a rough idea.

You know they have emergency ship out protocols, a helicopter has picked up your parents in front of you twice. You know your parents are well versed in combat and you’re fairly certain that’s a job requirement. Occasionally one of your parents comes back injured in some way.

 

Never anything serious, a black eye, a few bruises, perhaps a sprain. It used to worry you. You didn’t know how to ask them about it at the time, if it was okay to. Your parents hardly ever talk about work and when they do it’s always with a practiced vagueness.

 

But one day, you worked up the courage to ask.

 

* * *

 

2002

 

You and your parents had just gotten home from the airport after Philippe brought you to see their flight come in and welcome them home. An old tradition of yours.

Your father was regaling you with stories from the tourist day they got to spend in Britain. Your mother had gone to the restroom. She hates public bathrooms, she prefers the outdoors to them.

Just as your father was slipping off his jacket you caught it. Just barely, he was wearing a high collared sweater. There was a bunch of bright white gauze tape spread across his left shoulder and collarbone.

 

You took a sharp inhale of breath.

“What is it son?” Your father turned his head and body towards you. Your parents have always been good at catching your minute reactions, especially your father.

 

“Nani.” You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know what to  _ say _ . You felt frozen in mind and body.

“Is everything alright?” Concern was starting to edge into your father’s voice, he leaned down towards you. He hadn’t caught the reason for your alarm you realize.

 

“I-” You struggle to find a course of anything but inaction. Pretending you had never seen your father’s injury would be the safest option. But, you  _ can’t _ . Not this time, not anymore, especially not when it looks this serious. 

In the past you had always allowed your parents to brush away your worries with joking reassurances and half-truths. You’ve surmised that your parents have dangerous jobs, you’ve also surmised that they are capable of handling it.

Perhaps that has changed. If they’re in danger you need to know, then you can . . what? Do what?

What can you do?

 

You push that thought to the side for now, you need answers. After you get them you’ll figure out what to do, and you’ll do  _ something _ .

“Father. There’s something I need to ask you.” You looked him directly in the eye as you said this. Your father sensed your seriousness. His face shifted, looking older.

 

“Yes, Isamu?” I knew I had his attention, he rarely ever calls people by their names let alone their first names, including me.

 

“First, why is your shoulder injured?”

Surprise spread across his face, but he regained his composure quickly. “So you noticed this?”

He pulled his shirt to the side to show you his injury and gave you a wry smirk. It’s in moments like this that you understand why your mother says she wants to smack that stupid grin off father’s face so often.

 

“Yes. How did you get hurt?”

 

“Well you see. .” He said and you knew that what was about to come out of his mouth would be an obviously outrageous lie.

 

“The truth.” You demanded a hard edge in your voice.

 

Your father licked his lips. “We- . .we ran into some unexpected trouble, but we got out of it okay.”

He was still holding back, his eyes implored you not to ask more.

 

“What do you mean by trouble?”

 

“Isamu, do you really want to know this?” His question was both a warning and a cajoling.

“Yes!” You yelled. Your father was taken aback, you are generally soft spoken.

He inhaled and then sighed, looking at you sadly. “Son there are things I can’t tell you.” His voice reached that melancholy tone that sounds so foreign to you coming from him. “But don’t worry, I can look after myself. And if I can’t I have your Mom to back me up.”

Knowing they have each other has always made the idea of them having dangerous jobs easier, your parents make a great team. But you’re not an oblivious kid. You know they can still get hurt, you know there are still risks.

“And what if you can’t protect each other? What if something else unexpected happens? What if you get separated?”

 

For split second there’s a haunted look in your father’s eyes. And you were almost sorry for asking.

“All of that could happen, yes.” He looked down to the floor. “But that’s life, it’s full of risks.”

 

You couldn’t quite accept that. Your parents could be here, with you, they could be safe. They could have normal jobs, lead normal lives. You wouldn’t have to wonder about them. You wouldn’t have to miss them so much. You wouldn’t have to have this worry bubbling inside you.

“But why take them?!” Slipped out without your full permission or acknowledgement.

 

“Because there are many things in life that are worth the risk, Isamu.”

 

“What’s out there that’s worth risking your safety?” You ask him, your eyes moistening.

 

“Son, there are people in the world who need our help. And I would gladly put myself at risk for them, because they do not have the power needed to do it themselves.”

You’d never really considered in depth the clients of your parents before, what exactly they helped them with, what kind of aid they needed.

A part of you was glad and proud that they’re helping people but you still were scared for your family, for  _ them _ .

 

“Can’t someone else help them? Why do you and mother have to be the ones putting yourselves at risk?”

 

“Because this is something we chose. I wouldn’t feel like myself if I didn’t help them. It wouldn’t feel  _ right _ .” Your father says with conviction. 

You know your father has the right to his own decisions. You know he’s doing good work, but you  _ just _ -

“What if you don’t come back?! What about me?! I know they need you but don’t you think I need you too?!” With that you start bawling akin to an infant.

 

Warm arms surrounded you. You were torn, you were angry, you were confused, scared, sad, and somewhat bitter and regretful. You were also glad that your dad was hugging you, that he cared.

You half-heartedly pushed against his chest, he hugged you tighter picking you up and patting your back like you were a baby. “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry I can’t always be there for you.” He murmured into your hair. You clung to him.

He pulled away slightly so he could look at your face. “I promise you that I will always come back, Isamu. I promise.” He was beginning to cry too. You look him in the eyes and nod silently.

 

“Ichiro you’re bleeding!” Your mother was standing in the archway. She put her hand over her mouth not wanting her presence to have been known. She saw all of that.

She looked you in the eyes and a sort of understanding passes between you, that even you didn’t quite fully get at the time. Your mother has always been great conveying things with her holly eyes.

 

She was making the same promise to you that your father had made.

 

Then she locked eyes with your father again. She sighed, her eyes resigned and annoyed at the same time.

Your father looked down at his chest, your eyes followed his. Red was starting to bleed across his sweater. “Oh, so I am.” He said faintly surprised.

 

“I told you not to exert yourself or you’ll exacerbate the wound!”

Father set you down gently. “Well um, I . .” He looks between you and your mother. “Sorry?” He shrugged his shoulders.

“What did I just tell you?!” She said, her face turning red.

“I do apologize Sakura Blossom.” He said with doe eyes and slight pout.

“Don’t make that face at me.” Your mother made her way over to your father and pulled his sweater over his head and off. She glared at the bandages like she could see through them if she looked hard enough. “I’ll have to check the stitching now. Go sit by the sink.”

“Yes, Dojima-san.”

“And none of your cheek.”

“Of course not.”

 

Your mother went off to find her medical supplies. She has done basic first aid on you many times, she used to be a med student before dropping out of college. Your father carefully sat himself on the counter.

You looked to your father then to his injury. Worry began to crawl its way back into your mind.

Before it fully took root your father jumped back into his story about the british palace guards, smiling brightly while he talked.

 

Your mother came back in a few minutes with tools both familiar and unfamiliar to you, along with a bottle of cleaning alcohol. She let you stay unlike sometimes before when she would tend to either herself or your father. She undid father’s bandages.

 

You felt like a tiny layer behind the facade was peeled back, and with time more layers fell away too. Your parents stopped pretending that there job was normal that it wasn’t dangerous, they still never quite give you straight answers or specifics but it’s something.

You began writing them while they were on jobs, you told them how you were doing back home, they told you some of their more “normal” stories from abroad. You told them how much you missed them, they always say that they miss you too. You started making plans together about what you would do when they got back. You felt much closer to them.

Whenever you worry about them or miss them terribly you think about that night, about the promise your father and mother made.

And you think about one more thing your mother and father had said that night.

 

Your mother was absorbed in her work stitching up your father, maybe it looked worse than it was but it looked really bad to you. The worry started to gnaw at you even though you knew your father was safe right then and there.

Your father caught something in your posture and the slight change in facial expression, his eyes and demeanor softened, from being stoic whilst being treated.

 

“Don’t worry, little salmon, I’ll be fine.” He smiled warmly at you over your mother. You got the feeling he wasn’t just talking about his injury, he was talking about beyond that, beyond to today, or a month from now, or year or two from now.

You believed him. You still believe him. You still worry sometimes, but you trust that your family will come back to you. Because they promised to. Besides it helps that they’re always in your heart.

 

Later that night when your Mom was tucking you into bed, you always savoured whenever she could do that, you think she did too.

  
“Isamu however far away we maybe from you, know that your father and I are always with you wherever you go.” She said just as you were drifting off to sleep. She kissed your forehead. “I love you, goodnight Isamu.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm attempting to novelize two games at the same time. Aren't I ambitious?


End file.
